


The Blood is the Life Affair

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:26:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7





	The Blood is the Life Affair

**There's a dark lantern of the spirit,**

**Which none see by but those who bear it,**

**That makes them in the dark see visions**

**And hag themselves with apparitions,**

**Find racks for their own minds, and vaunt**

**Of their own misery and want.**

\-- Butler from Peacock’s ‘Nightmare Abbey’

 ****  


“The Blood Is The Life Affair”

.

Part 1: It was a dark and stormy night

The weather and landscape were something right out of a cheap B horror movie. There were ominous clouds rolling across a full moon, chilling winds gusting through bare bone trees and wolves howling in the distance. The only thing missing was a flash of lightning, accompanied by a loud clap of thunder.

Then as if on cue that addition to the picture came a few moments later as jagged bolts of lightning tore across the sky like skeletal hands, accompanied by the immediate boom of thunder. The storm was moving in quickly as they moved through the rugged terrain of the Carpathian mountains.

Napoleon Solo looked over at his partner sitting beside him in the black coach and four carriage as it swayed and rocked violently with every hole that the wooden wheels hit.

The driver deftly flicked his whip, driving the horses on as he tried to stay ahead of the quickly approaching weather system that was looming down upon them.

As usual the Russian had his eyes closed, his head wobbling just slightly from the motion of the carriage.

How is it you can manage a ride like this  without being seasick I’ll never understand,” Solo groaned as he caught himself while the coach lurched.

“That is because I get seasick on water, we are on dry land so I am therefore suffering from from motion sickness due this ghastly carriage ride.  Why you accepted this for our mode of transportation instead of renting car is beyond me.” Illya groused softly, not opening his eyes.

“If you had cared to warn me like a good partner; I would have at least lain in a supply of ginger tablets...but nooooo you thought this would be more quaint?”

“Hey don’t blame me? Our host sent it for us and I didn’t think it wise to insult the man, he is after all nobility.”

Illya finally opened one eye, staring coldly from beneath the brim of his hat for a moment before he closed it again.

"Nobility means nothing, it is just the trappings an antiquated and decayed existence; Count is but a meaningless  bourgeois title.”

“Are you done?”Napoleon asked.

“For the moment.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you weren’t feeling well. You’re your usual pale self, and not the color of pea soup, so how was I supposed to know that you were sea...experiencing motion sickness?”

Napoleon was a bit surprised at his partner’s snappish remark regarding the Counts title but given the Russian’s Communist upbringing was not exactly pro-nobility, it made sense. Illya usually kept such remarks to himself and he wondered why the title of Count seemed to rub him the wrong way.

The only response he received to his apology was a grunt as Illya folded his arms across his stomach, now confirming  that it was bothering him.

The carriage finally slowed as it approached the aged home of the Tedescu family. More than a mansion, but not quite a castle; it was a hulking remnant of a bygone era. With its red-brick walls, towers of varying sizes, arches and ramparts,it looked as though portions of it had been built piecemeal over the centuries. The bits that had been added mismatched the rest of the architecture, and the color of the facade, giving the illusion that made the structure seem to ramble on forever like a festering wound on an already troubled landscape.

The coach pulled to a stop with the horses being reined in tightly by the driver. The animals were feisty and nervous, acting as though they would bolt at any second if given the opportunity.

Illya finally stirred to life, flipping up the collar of black trench coat as he grabbed his small valise from the seat opposite them.

“Remember Napoleon the names are reversed here, last name first, first name last.  So our host Tedescu Vladislav, would be addressed as Count Tedescu.”

“I’ve got it, no problem.You are going to do the translating aren’t you? My Hungarian is pretty much non-existent.”

Illya glared at him, still feeling a little sick but then acknowledged the question with a nod of his head.

They made it to the grand entrance way just as the skies opened up in a torrential downpour. Napoleon reached for the heavy brass knocker but the door opened slowly with a loud and prolonged creak as if their exact moment of arrival had been anticipated. The face of an old man peaked around at them, a butler looking as though he were barely alive much less be able to pull the weight of the heavy oak door.

He was thin as a rail, with wisps of white hair hanging down from his head, and he shook as his bony hands took their coats and hats from them.

They left their cases on the floor beside the man while Napoleon rolled his eyes, giving  his partner that oh boy look in dismay. Illya’s face as usual remained expressionless.

The interior decor of the Tedescu residence was just as haphazard as the exterior. Dimly lit chandeliers made of elk horns cast eerie, jagged shadows on the tapestry covered walls. The carpet covering the floors must have been rich at one time, but now was faded and worn threadbare.

There were cobwebs and layers of dust on the odd mismatched period furniture that lined the walls. Scattered along the hall were myriads of carved statues of varying sizes, some of animals, others of trees and portrait but all looking quite old as the wood was split dry and ridden with worm holes.

The subject matter of the wall hangings was rather disturbing, scenes of battle, death, destruction and executions by impalement.

“Oh this is a real cheery place?” Napoleon whispered “ wonder if this decor could be called early Bram Stoker?”  
  


“Napoleon may I remind you that we are within the borders of Transylvania.”

“But Tedescu...”

“The Teduscu are Hungarian, but Transylvania though once Hungarian is now part of Romania. The Magyars are the largest minority population within the country.”

“Magyars?”

“Hungarians.”Illya whispered.

Solo just shook his head as the amount of trivial knowledge squeezed in that blond head never ceased to amaze him.

“Így uruk_this way gentlemen,” another servant appeared to escort them, looking as old and decrepit as the one who had met them at the door.

“The master awaits you in the library.”

They were brought into a rather large room with half-empty book shelves; the walls covered with portraits of varying sizes, displaying the Tedescu family through the centuries. There was a distinct commonality among them, both men and women all had hawk-like features, black hair with dark piercing eyes. In each painting the subjects held an ornate but vicious looking gem-encrusted dagger in their hands.

A middle-aged man dressed in a blood-red smoking jacket stood in front of a massive fireplace, sipping a crimson liquid from his glass. His features were identical to those of the people in the portraits.

“Ah, uraim üdvözöljük az otthonom, én gráf Count Tedescu Vladislav_welcome to my home, I am Count Vladislav Tedescu.”

Én Kuryakin Illya és ez a tarsam Solo Napoleon.” Illya answered.

“A magyar nagyon jó Kuryakin Illya_ your Hungarian is good Illya Kuryakin, that is a  Russian name is it not?”

“Lgen en vagyok,uram_yes I am Russian,” Illya answered, choosing not to repeat the man’s title.

“But where are my manners,” the Count said in heavily accented English, “it is obvious that Mr. Solo does not speak my language, so we will converse in English. I am rather surprised that a Soviet is working for U.N.C.L.E.”

Illya simply shrugged his shoulders. “Life holds many surprises does it not? Ours is an independent international organization owing political allegiance to no one. We have members from many foreign nations who have signed charters with us.”

“Count Tedescu, what may I ask is the reason that you’ve requested U.N.C.L.E. to come here?” Napoleon interrupted.

“My family owes a great service to Alexander Waverly from the time of the war. The Nazis used our home as a regional headquarters and Alexander helped my father and mother escape into the countryside.”  

“To this day I am still recovering the belongings of my family, the portraits you see around you are but a few of the items that have been returned to us thanks to Alexander Waverly’s intervention.”

“In my family’s search over the years, we have discovered shall we say certain German documents. They had at one point set up a laboratory in this house and we have in our possession a formula for some sort of debilitating neurotoxin that does not kill the subject but has rather unusual side effects.

“Neurotoxins are no longer of any significance, many are in existence already and are easily treated with a counter-agent.” Illya said coldly, “so it would be of no significance other than the fact that it was developed by Nazi scientists.”

“Ah Mr. Kuryakin, it is not just a neurotoxin. It causes certain physiological changes in the subject, making them extremely hypersensitive to light. Their appetite changes and seem to crave raw and bloody meats.”

Napoleon smiled, “Sounds like you’re describing a vampire?”

“Precisely Mr. Solo.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.”So you’re telling me that the Nazis were creating vampires?”

“Not vampires as we are familiar with from the stories of the Nosferatú, or the legend of Vlad Tepes. Ah, Mr. Solo forgive me, you might know him as Dracula I believe ...but I digress.”

“The victims of these experiments once injected with the drug developed vampire-like tendencies.  In their journals, the Nazis noted their test subjects demonstrated more violent tendencies, extreme strength and a voracious sexual appetite, along with a compulsion for ingesting blood and raw meats.”

“Yes is a little more complicated than your everyday run of the mill neurotoxin.” Illya said. “It sounds as if they were trying to create an army of monsters. Hitler was drawn to occultism, but this sort of experimentation goes far beyond that. May I see these documents, Count Tedescu?” Illya asked.

“Ah but of course, my brother Moríc has them in his possession as he is the one who found them. He has always fancied himself a bit of a scientist and has been studying them. He will be down shortly.”

“Good then we can get going with them. I’d like to be on the road as soon as possible,”Napoleon said.

“No no that is not wise. Please, I insist you stay the night as my guests. This storm is already becoming very dangerous and such weather makes journeying too risky. It will be safer to travel during the day once the storm has passed.”

“Do you own an automobile?” Illya asked.

“I do, but unfortunately it is not running at the moment. I am afraid good mechanics are difficult to find here, especially ones who would be willing to travel to this part of the country. That is why I sent the coach for you. I do apologize as I am sure it was not the most comfortable of journeys.”

“Perhaps I could have a look at it for you?”Illya offered.

“And why would people be unwilling to travel here?” Napoleon interrupted as he studied several of the portraits on the wall, getting an odd feeling that the eyes were following him.

“Mr. Solo we are in Transylvania...our people are a very superstitious lot and it does not help that the remains of castle Dracula are not far from here near the town of Brasov. The stories of Vlad Dracul are as pervasive as the air we breathe and because of them, people fear the legend of the vampire to this day and therefore avoid travelling to this area.”

“Well given what the Nazis were working on here, it was the perfect environment to keep prying eyes from any of their work.” Napoleon added.

“Very true Mr. Solo and yes Mr. Kuryakin, feel free to look at my car if you feel so inclined, köszönöm_ thank you.” The Count turned to call his butler.

“Looks like we are stuck here” Illya said quietly to his partner. “so much for a simple courier mission.”

“It would appear so,” Napoleon answered out of the side of his mouth.

 ~~~

Part 2: To Sleep Perchance to Dream

“Please gentlemen, you will join me for dinner?” The Count picked up a small brass bell from the table giving it a little shake.

One of the servants appeared behind them without a sound.” Te osztály, uram_you rang my lord?”

Napoleon found the man’s silent appearance unnerving; anytime he didn’t hear someone come up behind him made him feel that way and it would take a few minutes for him to settle from it.

This incident would serve as reminder to Solo to remain more aware of his surroundings, even though the place was already giving him the creeps.

“Kolos, holnap készen állsz két lemez vacsorára a vendégek, és látom, hogy a szobók készítet számukra_Kolos, you will ready two more plates for dinner, and prepare rooms for our guests.”

The old man nodded to the Count, creeping out of the room and closing the doors behind him.

The two agents walked behind the Count following him towards the dining room, again eyeing the bizarre statuary that lined the hallway.

“Count Tedescu, I must say that you have a rather eclectic collection of artwork.” Napoleon commented.

“Ah yes, the carvings I am sure have caught your eye. They were done by local artisans, part of our family tradition was to pay the woodcarvers for the works deemed to be the most unique. The carvers considered it a great honor to have their pieces owned by the Tedescu family, but alas that tradition is no more.”  

“Too many of them, mostly Rom gypsies were killed during the war, and the craftsmanship ceased to be passed down from father to son. Those who survived, fear our home now, as it was considered a house of pain because the many people that died here at the hands of the Nazis. It is said,“the Count laughed, “ the gypsies placed a curse on our family.”

Illya looked at Napoleon with an uncomfortable gaze; it was rare that the Russian would let his emotions show in any way, but it seemed when the the subject of the Nazis was broached, his control sometimes faltered.  

He knew little of Illya’s background as he was very closed-mouthed about his past, but given that he was from Kiev, Napoleon knew there had been terrible atrocities committed in the city under the German occupation, so there were surely things Illya had to have seen as a child.

He tried asking questions, but his partner would avoid the subject like the plague, so Napoleon just let it lay. Illya had his back and he could trust him and that was all he really needed to know about the man.

Illya dismissed the comment about the curse, addressing more scientific aspects of the discussion. “Are there any survivors of these experiments?” he asked.

“Only rumors, people fear the unknown and it is said that these Nazi-made vampires roam the forests at night preying on unsuspecting travelers. It is also the explanation given when animals are found dead....cattle sheep, dogs; although there have been recent instances of exsanguination.” Tedescu smiled, “There are however, no such things as vampires.”

 

There were several other people seated in the dining room, awaiting their arrival.

“Gentlemen may I introduce my family to you?” The Count approached a dark-haired woman with green eyes; she was clothed in a dark burgundy dress accessorized with rather large red cabochon cut stones called  Pigeon Blood rubies set in silver as a pendant and earrings.

“Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin this is my wife Magdala.”

Illya gave a slight nod, while Napoleon being ever flirtatious kissed her hand.

“Charmed Madam,” he smiled at her.

The next to be greeted was a man who looked like a younger version of the Count.

“My brother, Moríc.”

He was dressed in a black suit and white shirt but sported a bright red ascot around his throat.

“And lastly my young sister Terézia.”

She brought an even bigger smile to Napoleon, as he turned on his charm to high. She was a stunning beauty with waist-length black hair, large brown eyes, full pouting lips and and hour-glass figure dressed in a form fitting cherry-red dress that left little to the imagination.

The two U.N.C.L.E. agents were seated at the long dining table with the Count at it’s head.

 

“Tonight we dine on fish soup, goulash along töltött káposzta and one of our national desserts. I hope you will enjoy our ethnic foods?”

Napoleon was hoping that it wasn’t some sort of red meat, as the preponderance of the color was beginning to make him a bit uncomfortable, especially after the discussion regarding the vampire-like test subject’s cravings.

But he couldn’t resist asking as the entire family was wearing some article of clothing in that color, and in every family portrait the ruby encrusted dagger appeared, continuing, in a way, the theme of red.

Illya caught it out of the corner of his eye; the sister Terézia could not stop staring at Napoleon, though that was not surprising as it was rare that a woman wasn’t attracted to his handsome partner.  

“Count Tedescu, I can’t help but notice that the color red seems to be of some importance to your family....may I ask why?” Solo asked.

“Ah the color is a reminder of our family motto,” he said pointing up towards the family crest mounted above yet another large fireplace mantle.

“A vér az élat.”Illya read, “The blood is the life... an interesting maxim. It is also a quote from the Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula.”

“Really,” Magdala said feigning mild surprise, “ but then again I have never read that dreaded novel. It has really besmirched the good name of Transylvania.”

“The good name?” Illya tried not to laugh, “I hardly think that it was the doing of a mere novel, but it was more so the ghastly acts of one of your Princes, Vlad Tepes on whose life Stoker based his novel.  So which is worse the reality or the fiction? I understand that your family is descended from the Countess Eresébet Báthory of Hungary is it not? There too is another ghastly tale.” Illya couldn’t resist getting his little jabs at these supposed aristocrats.

“That is a little known fact Mr. Kuryakin, one that we prefer to keep out of the light, given our family’s other difficulties,” Magdala said.

“And that is, Illya?” Napoleon asked, now curious as to what his partner had not taken the trouble to mention to him.

Magdala chose to answer Illya. “Elisabeth Báthory called the Blood Countess, was a seventeenth century noblewoman who was my husband’s ancestor. She lived in Castle Trescén in Hungary and was accused of torturing and killing hundreds of young girls... six hundred fifty to be precise. Legend has it that she bathed in the blood of virgins in order to retain her youth and was subsequently compared to that of Prince Vlad Tepes.”

Napoleon raised his eyebrows to that one, not expecting another gruesome story, and much less vampire related.

The Count intervened in the discussion, changing back to the topic of the family motto.  Both agents sensed a touch of anxiety in his voice.

“Yes the line of our family, the blood shall we say is the path to eternity. but not the way the Countess Báthory intended. The maintenance of the blood-line is of the utmost importance to the Teduscu family...our life’s blood is our legacy. So the blood is indeed life.”  

“Do any of you have children?” Illya asked.

Both agents made note as they watched wife and brother look sharply at the Count.

“No, it is unfortunate that none of us has been blessed with progeny,” he answered, giving no acknowledgement to his family’s looks.

The dinner was served by the shaking hands of Kolos; first a spicy fish soup called halászle which was one of the few foods that Napoleon had ever seen his partner refuse to eat with a wave of his hand.

Kolos returned immediately with a bowl of vadgombaleves in its place, a wild mushroom soup. This was an acceptable substitute to the Russian and he began to eat it with his usual enthusiasm.

Illya had once made a comment regarding his habit of eating quickly. “Back in Soviet Union if you did not eat fast, then you did not get to eat.” That was one of the few personal comments that Illya had ever made about his mysterious past.

Kolos continued to serve, the main courses being a steaming venison goulash heavily spiced with paprika, along with stuffed cabbage.

They were served a full-bodied red wine called Egri Bikavéri_bulls blood, and somehow Napoleon felt it was in keeping with the bizarre theme of the color red and of course blood. Both he and Illya passed on that libation, choosing to drink only water..

Dessert was gesztenyepüré, a pudding composed of grated chestnuts with sugar and whipped cream, spiced with a bit of rum along with it a white wine called Tokaji.

Illya noticed the sister Terézia was not touching her food, and only drinking her red wine; the fluted glass of the bulls blood held with a graceful hand. Something odd though, on her extended pinky finger was a solid gold fingernail.  It also seemed to him that her libation was of a different color red from what the others were drinking. Illya shrugged it off,  assuming that it was simply a different vintage.

After dinner a glass of Unicum, a Hungarian herbal liqueur was served as an apéritif, it being made from forty different herbs aged in oak casks.

The Count noted Napoleon’s surprise at the strong flavor of the drink and remarked, “It was served to Kaiser Josef II of Austria who said upon tasting it...’Das is ein Unikum!’ and hence the name.

“This is unique,” Napoleon translated. “Gan sicher, is dieser köstlich_most definitely, this is delicious.” he agreed in German.

The Count nodded to his guests. “And with that gentlemen I bid you a good night,” he stood, escorting his wife and sister from the room, leaving his brother with the two agents.

“Moríc could I impose upon you to show me the documents?” Illya asked.

“Of course, perhaps I could give you a tour of my little laboratory gentlemen?”

“I’ll take a pass on that,” Napoleon said, “but Illya is the scientist in the family so I’m sure he’d enjoy it. I’m feeling a bit sleepy after such a delicious meal and think I’ll turn in early if you don’t mind?”

“But of course Mr. Solo, Kolos will show you to your room.”

Illya disappeared with Moríc, Solo headed behind the man Kolos as he shuffled along in front of him. The man moved so slowly that it was like following the walking dead. Another lovely image that Napoleon felt the need to now shake off.

His bedroom was a bit on the ostentatious side with tapestries showing scenes that one would consider quite bawdy.

He spotted his travel case on the bed, and   opened it, pulling out a pair of grey silk pajamas. He stripped down, slipping on the bottoms then using a pitcher and wash basin, he rinsed his face and hands, then put on the silk top.

Solo walked to the window, peering out from behind the heavy burgundy velvet drapes, seeing that it was still pouring.

He climbed beneath the quilt, it’s red fabric matching the canopy and curtains that hung around the bed, then slipped his Walther beneath the pillow before laying his head down with a sigh.

He left the light on feeling just a tad uncomfortable being alone; normally he and his partner were sharing the same bed for economic reasons and though always complaining to each other, wishing for separate accommodations, at this moment he wished Illya was there with him.

Napoleon fell asleep quickly, being more tired than he had thought and he began dreaming quickly.

He was standing nude there in the bedroom in front of the erotic tapestries, and watched as the women in the heavily woven arrases stepped out, coming to life.

They were all over him...touching, kissing and caressing. He found himself in bed with the three women, making love to each of  them.  He felt ecstasy as well pain and confusion.

When he woke in the morning, he was fully clothed in his pajamas. Napoleon rubbed his eyes not feeling quite refreshed from his sleep as he stared at the tapestries again thinking about the intensity of his dream.

   

Part 3: Blood, sweat and tears.

 

“Damn, that was some dream?” he muttered, still feeling tired as he rose from the bed.

He washed and shaved, noticing a bruise on his left wrist and upon closer examination, he found a cut that looked like small slice.  He couldn’t quite recall when he received the minor injury...perhaps from the carriage ride, as they had been jostled quite a bit.

He dressed into a more casual change of clothing, a polo shirt with a cardigan and a pair of slacks. Both he and Illya didn’t pack much as they thought they would be returning to New York almost immediately.

Kolos was seated in the hallway as if waiting for the the guests.  “Your companion’s room is there,” he said, pointing across the hall.

Napoleon yawned, “Excuse me...umm thank you.”  He rapped their standard code against the door then hearing his partners voice call to him, he slipped inside.

“Good morning tovarisch,” he tried mustering a smile.

Illya was seated at a desk reading through a pile of notes that Moríc had given him.

“That is debatable, as it is still storming heavily.” Illya grumbled. He finally looked up at his partner. “Napoleon, you look terrible are you ill?”

“No, just feeling really tired...I had the most bizarre dream last night.”  He looked around at Illya’s accommodations, finding them much more sedate and definitely lacking in the fiery color that seemed to be almost everywhere else. The sceneries of the wall hangings were much more placid and pastoral and the room was rather cozy as Illya had a fire burning in the fireplace.

“You have to go take a look at my room, the tapestries are a bordering on the pornographic side, if you ask me.” Napoleon said.

“Well they gave you the right room then did they not?”

“Very funny.”

Illya stood, walking over to him. “May I?” He asked, reaching his hand to his partner’s face.

Solo nodded his approval;  Illya touched his forehead and then his cheek.

“Napoleon, you are ice cold and very pale. I think you are coming down with something. Maybe from the carriage ride, a cold perhaps?”

“Just feeling very tired...speaking of the carriage ride, do you have any bumps or bruises after our little trip?”

No, why?”

“Well I woke up with this rather painful bruise and I don’t recall when it could have happened, I’m guessing during the carriage ride since it was so rough.” He held out his wrist, showing the mark to the Russian.

Illya put on his eyeglasses, taking a closer look at Solo’s wrist.

“Mmmm?”

“What?”

“Nothing...”

“All right  be that way,” Napoleon said.

“I am hungry,” Illya’s stomach rumbled, “perhaps we should go see if we can get some breakfast. A good meal might help your energy level.”

At that moment there was a knock at the door, “Adja meg kérem_ enter please,”Illya called.

Kolos appeared with a large serving tray of food for them; freshly toasted bread with cheese spread, véres hules... a black pudding-like sausage, an assortment of kolbész, deviled eggs, caviar, foie gras, pancakes, fruit salads and yogurts and well as champagne and pastries.

“Now that’s what I call perfect timing?” Napoleon said.

Illya eyed the amount of food with pleasure as Kolos placed the tray on the table “And that is what I call breakfast.”

“I will return shortly with tea,” the old man said, leaving without another word.

“Wow, this is a serious amount of calories,” Napoleon said.

Illya was already filling his plate, ready to dig in.

“Food’s never wasted on you tovarisch.”

“I have learned to take advantage of a meal at any opportunity as eating throughout most of my life was often a matter of luck, then a given.”

“Really?”

“You have never known true starvation Napoleon, and I hope you never do. Now let us leave it at that and enjoy the feast that has been given to us?”

Napoleon wasn’t quite sure what his partner was alluding to and thought it best not to question him as usual. At the moment, he didn’t have the energy for any sort of lively discussion anyway.

Illya’s appetite was hearty as always, eyeing the caviar as a prized treat, but Napoleon wasn’t really hungry and just picked at a few things.

He found the tea brought by Kolos a welcome sight as he was starting to feel very chilly.

“Napoleon are you sure you are all right?” Illya asked after swallowing his last morsel of food.

“Just really tired. I think I’m going to wander around for a bit, then take a nap later.”

“Now I know you are ill, you never take naps. I would have thought you’d be eager seek out the company of the lovely Terézia.”

“There’s the rub, I think I was dreaming about her last night, it was a weird one. The women in the tapestries came to life and we ugh, well...”

“No need to finish, I get the picture. I think I want to see this room decor of yours as now as you have me curious. Obviously if the tapestries were of an erotic nature, that planted the seed in your subconscious mind and ergo your dreams were....well you know what happened. I do have to repeat though, you do not look well.”

“Knock it off, I’ll be fine. So what mischief are you planning to get into...going to hang out in Moríc’s lab.  He’s a bit of an odd one don’t you think?”

“No more so than the rest of the family. At the moment I plan to continue to read over these notes, then I would like to have a look at the Count’s car to see what I can do, as I really do not relish another carriage ride when we finally are able to leave this place.”

Illya turned away, put on his reading glasses again, burying his nose in the documents, thus ending his discussion with his partner.

Napoleon wandered out into the hall heading downstairs to the library where he overheard voices. He hesitated, waiting outside, attempting to listen in on the conversation.

It was Magdala and Moríc and they did not sound very happy, but unfortunately they were speaking in Hungarian. Napoleon knew very few words, though the ones he did understand gave him cause for concern.

“Lányok_girls, megszökött_escaped. What girls could they be referring to? They said there were no children...could they be holding someone prisoner here?” His thoughts went to Moríc for some reason, wondering if the man had been up to something nefarious.

“Hello Mr. Solo,” a female voice spoke from behind him. It was Terézia, dressed more casually but still in red, wearing a tight cashmere sweater and skirt that showed off her...assets very nicely.

“If I did not know better I would think you were eavesdropping?” He said in English.

“Me eavesdrop? No actually I didn’t want to interrupt their conversation and was waiting for a break before I walked in...as you recall I don’t speak Hungarian?” He smiled at her.

“Or so you say?” She smiled coyly back at him. “Come with me.” Terézia said seductively, taking hold of his arm.

.

Illya walked out of his room, across the hall to take a look at the tapestries Napoleon had mentioned.  He opened the door, and saw the red bed and curtains as his partner had described, but when he looked at the wall hangings, he saw nothing that came even close to erotic.  The tapestries illustrated the same such scenery as the ones on the walls in his own room. He thought that quite odd.

“Perhaps Napoleon was really ill after all, as it seemed as though he were having bizarre dreams but hallucinations as well?” Illya thoughts became concerned as he walked back out into the hallway.  

He was met by the manservant Kolos who had just reached the the landing, having made his way slowly up the long staircase.

“Megkérderzhetem, ahol gróf Tedescu autója található_may I ask where Count Teduscu’s car is located?”

“It is out in the barn just down along the eastern wall of the house. You cannot go out sir as it is still raining heavily and it is not safe. There are many rocks and one could slip and fall, very precarious in this weather. The forest surrounding us is dangerous as well, there are things that walk in the shadows...”

“I will take my chances,”Illya said as he headed towards the stairs, thinking these people were country bumpkins subject to the power of mere suggestion.  He had one of the servants fetch his trench coat and headed out into the storm.

The wind was blowing a horizontal rain, as lightning continued to flash in the distance, while the Russian held on to his hat with one hand, pulling his collar tight about his face with the other as he walked along the outside walls of the house. He followed carefully what seemed to be a narrow path  as he continued around the corner of the wall. Farther back away from the house he spotted the muddy road that lead to the barn.

He continued onwards, leaning into the gusts of wind until he reached the large wooden door, pulling it open enough for him just to slip inside.

He could make out the shape of the car, covered with a tarpaulin. Beside the door was an oil lantern, taking a book of matches from his coat pocket he lit it, shedding enough light for him to see the car.

He pulled the tarp away, sending a cloud of dust up into the air, smiling when he saw the. It was a ARO M59, a Romanian built off-road vehicle, very similar to an American jeep.  It made sense, given the rough countryside that Tedescu would have this sort of vehicle rather than some sedan. “It was at least a 1959, so not that old,” he shrugged.  

Illya lifted the bonnet, examining the condition of the engine. He was familiar with this sort of vehicle and confident that given a little tinkering, he could get it running, then they could get out of this place.

He was surprised that he was looking forward to getting back to New York, and he smiled thinking that a certain red-head that had been transferred from London recently that had something to do with that. He seemed to be attracted to red-heads as of late, although at this exact moment the color red he found hardly appealing.

He looked around, finding a small tool box; looking through it he satisfied himself there was enough for him to work with.

Illya removed his hat and coat, hanging them up on a nail protruding from a wooden support column that was behind him, then he buried his nose in the engine, checking all the connections.

He had been working for a while, when came upon a fitting that seemed to be frozen and grabbed a wrench trying to loosen it. His hand slipped, cutting it on a piece of metal. His instinct was to put the bloody finger in his mouth, but stopped himself as his hands were dirty.

He grabbed a handkerchief in his pants pocket, using it to apply pressure until the bleeding subsided then he continued with his work. But giving him a moments pause, as he looked at the blood on his hand. All this talk of mass murderers and vampires suddenly made him feel just a little bit uncomfortable being alone, even though he knew it was nothing but superstitious nonsense.

Though any time the talk of Nazis and their demented work was ever mentioned, that definitely unsettled him, as old memories of suffering at their hands as a child would resurface.

About an hour later he was damp with perspiration as he wiped his hands, cleaning away some of the grease with a nearby rag, and satisfied that he had done everything possible to get the machine in working order. Now it was time to  attempt to start the car.  

At first there was nothing, then it clicked. The second try it tried to turn over then after the third try the engine roared to a start, bringing a smile to his face.  But at quickly as his moment of satisfaction arrived it ended, as the car sputtered then stalled.

He tried to start it again but the M59 wouldn’t to turn over, this time being completely uncooperative.

Then he wondered if there was fuel in the tank, remembering to check the gauge. It was on empty.

“Chyort!” he grumbled. It would figure after all that work, there was no petrol.  He looked at his watch, deeming he’d wasted enough time for the day. He was wearing a turtleneck but was finding himself chilly from the damp weather and perspiring from the work.

“Perhaps a hot cup of tea would be good right now?”he thought.

Illya turned to where he had hung his coat and hat, but found them gone. He looked around on the floor of the barn, seeing if they had fallen but his clothing was no where to be found.

“Chtoebat’_what the fuck?” he cursed out loud, drawing his Walther immediately, checking his surroundings for an intruder.

He turned in place quickly scanning the area, but saw nothing. There was no choice but to head out into the pouring rain and head back to the house, but this time he did it with his weapon drawn.

“Der’mo,” he mumbled as he stepped out into downpour. “Such a rain was falling,” his babushka would tell him was “because the angels were crying.”

Illya followed the driveway to the path, slipping a few times on the wet rocks he had been warned about, then finally made it to the door soaking to the skin, his hands and knees covered in mud. He hadn’t noticed before that the door knocker was in the image of what looked like a screaming face as he reached for it, but as it happened when they first arrived, the door opened before he put his hand up to knock. This place was really starting to make him uncomfortable.

Illya stepped inside, apologizing to Kolos as he was leaving a puddle dripping on the floor.

“Please sir, wait here and I will fetch something so you do not drip throughout the house.”

Illya shot a look at him. “Like it would really matter in this shit hole of a house?” he thought, but stayed there as he was asked anyway.

Though the title of Count bothered Illya for personal reasons, the condition of the Tedescu home did little to give the impression that the family was noble.

Under Communist rule most of the aristocracy had been disposed, including Illya’s grandfather, Count Alexander  Kuryakin had been, though that was fact he shared with no one for safety reasons. In Russia, it as best that no one knew he was a descendant of dvoryanin_nobility as it would have only caused him problems.

Living in New York, no one cared about nobility, but he still felt it safer to keep his little secret, one of many that he had.

He was technically a Count being the last living member of the Kuryakin line, but as he told his partner that title meant nothing. Little did Napoleon know that Illya was making the remark was in reference to himself. There was much of Illya’s past that he shared with no one, even Napoleon.

The less people know about you, the longer you live. That was the code that he lived by, his motto, just as the Tedescu had  the blood is life as theirs. Both referenced survival, but in different ways.

Kolos reappeared with several throw blankets, helping Illya to wrap one around his waist, then draped the other around his shoulders.

“You should change quickly sir before you catch a chill. The house is quite damp and it would not be good for you to become ill.”

“Yes thank you Kolos.” Then Illya sneezed loudly.

“May I help you upstairs sir or do anything else for you? Perhaps some chicken soup?”

“No thank you...ugh actually yes to the chicken soup. Kolos there is something else that you could do for me. When I was working on the car I had hung up my coat and hat, then when I went to leave, they were gone. Could you find out who might have been out there and taken them? Oh yes and one more thing, is there any petrol to be had for the car?”

“I will ask sir, and there are several canisters of petrol in the rear area, where the automobile is housed.”

Illya held the blankets around him, feeling his shoes squish and squeak as he walked upstairs to his room. He looked at Napoleon’s door as he walked past, then decided to change as Kolos had said before he did catch a chill. He would see Napoleon after he’d dressed into some dry clothes and eaten his soup.

.

Chapter 4: Ashes Ashes, we all fall down.

He couldn’t help himself sometimes, and having someone as irresistible as Terézia leading him to her bedroom didn’t help either. She offered herself up to him pressing her body against him as soon as the door to her room was closed behind them. Of course he couldn’t refuse such an enticing offer, he thought as he pulled her soft sweater over her head.

Her breasts were full, calling an invitation to his lips and Terézia moaned loudly as he caressed them with his tongue. He maneuvered her towards the bed, suddenly finding himself lacking the energy to lift her into his arms and carry her there.  

They lay together in her bed, entwined naked in each other’s arms, but eventually his lack of energy overpowered his enthusiasm and though every bit of her almost familiar sensual body called out to him; he decided against a second go around with her.   

Napoleon slipped from the bed, leaving the woman asleep. He found himself barely having the able to dress himself as he felt terribly exhausted. He staggered as he returned to his room, then dropped into his bed and like his Russian friend, fell asleep instantly.

Illya looked in on him, seeing his partner out cold and he decided not to wake him up as discussing the incident in the car port could wait. It was better to let Napoleon sleep as long as he needed if he were indeed becoming ill.

He wasn’t feeling that well himself, and was convinced he had caught a cold from being overheated, then soaked in the rain. But he wasn’t that ill to forgo a good meal. Even though he had just eaten a bowl of soup, he was ready for a full dinner and headed down to the dining room.

The Count questioned where Napoleon was, and Illya indicated he was feeling a bit under the weather. Illya noticed that Terézia was absent as well, but said nothing.

“Kolos, küldünk levest Mr.Solo vascora után_ we will send some soup up to Mr. Solo after dinner. So I understand you looked at my car today Mr. Kuryakin, in what condition did you find it?”

“It needed some minor adjustments and was actually in fair condition, once I get some petrol into it I suspect it will be running fine.”

“Why thank you,” Tedescu smiled, “ I did not realize that U.N.C.L.E. had such varied training for their agents?”

“Not part of our training, but just a thing or two I have picked up over the years... I was wondering if my hat and coat had been located yet as they had mysteriously disappeared while I was working on your vehicle.”

“Yes so I was told, I am so sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Kuryakin. Kolos will be sure to find you replacements.”

Illya found it strange that the Count seemed unconcerned that there had been a possible theft from one of his guests, even if it was just an old trench coat and hat... very strange indeed.

.

Napoleon slept fitfully, he was dreaming again as the three young women covered him with their delectable bodies, they all reminded him of Terézia, but this time he felt compelled to resist their touch, yet it  became a losing battle as he finally made love to them again, each time resulting in an explosive but painful orgasm.

Illya watched as Napoleon woke with a gasp as he came into the bedroom carrying a tray with bowl of chicken soup but set it down hastily as he saw how badly his friend looked.

He was soaked with sweat, and seemed drained of all color and now there were dark circles under his eyes.  Illya put his hand to Napoleon’s forehead again, finding his skin it alarmingly cold to the touch.

“Napoleon you are very ill.”

“Nooo,” he moaned, “I’m just tired, will you go away and let me sleep.”

“No, you are going to sit up and eat this chicken soup. I think it will do you good.

And you need to listen to me, something strange is going on here. You imagining those bizarre tapestries, your dreams, my coat and hat disappearing while I was working on the car...perhaps you becoming ill,” he said, looking suspiciously at his friend’s wrist.

Napoleon glanced at the walls, seeing the tapestries had changed, the erotic ones were gone. “Noooo I saw them, they were there,” he pointed, “and I think my dreams weren’t dreams at all, I think they were real. Earlier today I overheard a conversation between Magdala and Moríc, I understood two words, daughters and escape.”

“Napoleon, you are thinking that they might be these mysterious women who seduced you in your dreams?”

“Not dreams, real.”

Solo looked down at other his wrist as he brought a spoonful of hot soup to his mouth, seeing another similar bruise and cut as he had on this other one. Surely this couldn’t have happened when he was in bed with Terézia?

“What the fu..” Before he could finish the sentence he passed out.

Kuryakin caught his partner before he fell face first into the bowl of soup in front of him. He hefted him up, carrying him back to the bed, examining the wounds on the wrists then covering Napoleon with the blankets, and heavy red quilt.

This was not good, the paleness, weakened condition and the strange slices on his bruised wrists, the heightened erotic dreams...these were all symptoms related to the victims of those creatures created by the Nazi experiments as he had read in Moríc’s notes. Now Illya wondered if Solo had been attacked by these vampire-like creatures that had been spoken about. Escaped daughters, when Tedescu denied any issue...it all made sense. There were people infected with the neurotoxin. It was time to talk to Moríc and ascertain the truth.

Illya went down to the cavernous rooms beneath the house to Moríc’s laboratory, when he arrived the found the door ajar.

“Moríc? Ott vagy_ are you there?” He called out. The walked into the room, finding it a wreck. There were shattered beakers, glass and papers  everywhere.

“Moríc,” he called louder.He walked beside one of the desks, spotting a pair of legs on the floor protruding from behind it.

Illya quickly drew his weapon from its holster, taking a defensive stance as he checked the area, but found no one there.

He knelt beside the body, rolling it over and seeing that it was Moríc. The man was dead, and his skin was ghastly white, whiter than he’s seen any recently dead corpse. He realized that his blood was gone, complete exsanguination.

Illya suddenly had a gut feeling and checked Moríc’s wrists, finding the same cuts and bruising that Napoleon bore.

He left the lab, heading back upstairs at a run, going directly to the library seeking out Tedescu.  There he found the Count and his wife arguing with each other.

He walked into the room without hesitation.

“Moríc is dead, in his lab,” he announced coldly. “He has been drained of all his blood. And now I insist that you tell me what is going on here, whose daughters have escaped and why were they being held?”

Tedescu cursed, looking angrily at his wife.

“Es a te híbad te bolond_this is your fault you fool!” He yelled, striking Magdala in the face.

IIlya pulled back his fist, striking the Count in the the jaw, sending him flying to the floor.

“I do not care about who is at fault! I want answers now?” Illya drew his Walther from  beneath his shirt, aiming it directly at Tedescu.

“Stop stop! I will tell you, “the Count said, pulling himself up, dusting off his pants.

“There are daughters, three of them that I fathered with my mistress. You have met one of them...Terézia. The others as well as she were injected with the neurotoxin by my idiot brother Moríc, upon the insistence of my useless wife, who could not give me children.”

“Te vzívtelen rohadék_you heartless bastard!” Magdala spat at him.

“Elég_enough!” Illya barked.”Finish now Tedescu.”

“Two of the daughters manifested the symptoms immediately, and I was forced to have them locked up in a cell beneath the house. Terézia did not react to the formula as extremely as her sisters and the condition has been manageable, shall we say?”

“So that was blood that she was drinking at dinner last night?” Illya asked, feeling disgusted.

“Unfortunately yes. I am afraid now that we are all in danger with the girls being on the loose. That is why I contacted U.N.C.L.E. as I was hoping your organization would find a counter agent to cure my daughters.”

 ****  


“You are afraid now?” Illya shook his head.” The truth would have been better from the beginning as a warning would have been prudent. Your daughters have attacked Napoleon, and now he lies ill in his bed. If he dies, Count, you will pay with your life...all of you will pay, I swear it.” He threatened in a low, menacing voice as he stared at them with his icy cold blue eyes.

He turned leaving them, heading back up to Napoleon.

Kolos called from behind him in the foyer.

“Sir, it is true...vámpírok roam these halls? I overheard,” he apologized, “I did not mean to eavesdrop.”

“Of a kind Kolos, it might be wise lock your door tonight.”

“I do not think so sir, I have been loyal to the Tedescu all my life as was my father and his father before me....but this I draw the line at. Good bye sir.” Kolos raised the collar of his coat, pulling it tightly about him.

“But it is still storming Kolos?” Illya said.

“I would risk the storm rather than stay in this house one more moment, I will take my cousins with me and go to our Uncles house, where we will be safe.  I suggest you leave too sir.”  At that the man opened the heavy door, disappearing out into the dark, stormy night.

Illya wished he had that option, but with Napoleon in the condition he was in, he felt it not wise to risk traveling in the storm. He hurried back to his partner’s room, he entered and locked the door immediately.

Napoleon was still wrapped in his blankets, but was shivering as Illya checked him. He lit a fire then turned on all the lights in the room,and lit whatever candles were present. Then pulled a chair up beside the bed, preparing to sit vigil not only on his partner, but in watch for these Vampiry, he called them in Russian.

Hours passed, and the room became very warm making Illya become drowsy; he tried shaking off the the feeling, but then his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep.

He awoke with a start, sensing a presence in the room and that’s when a woman dressed in a long red gown threw herself upon him, hissing wildly.  It was Terézia.

“Nincs megállás_ no stop!” he cried out as she held him down with incredible strength

She ignored his plea, slicing into his neck with her golden nail, then plunging her lips to the wound, sucking the blood from Illya throat, as the same time she reached down grabbing at his genitals.

Illya moaned, unable to fight her, finding the experience bizarrely erotic as he became aroused.

Suddenly Terézia released him, and fell to the floor. That’s when he say Napoleon standing behind her with a candlestick.

Illya staggered out of the chair, recovering from the hypnotic effects of the woman’s blood-letting. “We need to get out of here now.” He gasped.

Another woman ran at them, suddenly appearing from an apparent secret door behind the tapestries.

 

Illya grabbed his weapon instinctively, firing a live round, killing the creature instantly.  He body went flying, knocking over the table and the oil lamp on it, setting the carpet on fire instantly. The flames spread quickly as the two agents grabbed each other for support, retreating out into the hallway.

“I have the car up and running, we just need to put petrol in it...come,” Illya said, holding a napkin to his throat while he pulled Napoleon along as the hall filled with dark acrid smoke.

They staggered down the stairs finding the bodies of Tesescu and Magada laying dead near the front door.  

Then there was a blood curdling scream as the third sister charged at them from the library. She stopped as the bullet from Kuryakin’s gun hit her right in the middle of her forehead, her eyes still wide as if looking at them as she collapsed down to the floor.

The flames were dancing like wild creatures down the railing and carpet on the stairs as the two agents opened the door, heading out into the driving rain.

Illya lead Napoleon around to where the car was was kept, putting him in the passenger seat of the car while he went in search of the fuel.  He found the canisters in the back behind the vehicle and quickly emptied them into the fuel tank.  The last bit of petrol he dumped on the floor and walls of the car port, thinking that it all should be destroyed....as the place in deed was accursed, letting superstition overtake his usually logical mind.

Illya climbed into the drivers seat, pumping  the gas pedal a few times, then held his breath as he turned the key.

There was only a grinding sound as it tried to kick over. “Chyort_ shit!” he cursed, as he flung open the door, then opened the bonnet of the car.

I quickly tinkered with a few of the connections, calling to Napoleon to try turning the key again. This time the engine roared to life. Illya closed the hood quickly then dove again into the drivers seat.  He floored the gas pedal, sending dirt and debris flying into the air as it took off out into the rain.

He steered it wildly over the rocky terrain as they drove past the Tedescu home, then pulled to a stop after they were about a mile away.

The house was fully engulfed in flame, and Illya was sure that would be the end of the vampire stories, as least as far as the Tedescu were concerned.

Napoleon smiled at him weakly. “So how do you want to report his one to the old man?”

Illya shrugged, pulling the bloody napkin from his shirt collar. “As it happened, but I think it best that we do not use the word, Vampire.”

“Agreed...now home James.”

 "Who?”

“Never mind.” Napoleon smiled, “ Hey thanks tovarisch for coming to the rescue?”

“It was you who rescued me... oh and the sex part, I think we should leave out at well.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve got that right.”

Illya put the car into gear as the windshield wipers fought against the driving rain.

.

 

A lone figure stood by a large tree a few hundred yards away from the house as the crackling flames burned and hissed in the r

rain, watching the vehicle as it sped away.

 Terézia Tedescu wrapped herself tightly in her red cape clutching the ruby-encrusted dagger in her hand, on its blade was inscribed the blood is life. She smiled, deciding to walk to the village...

.

Végén ~ Finis

 

 


End file.
